Himself His Own Dungeon
by Bad Faery
Summary: Not content with simply throwing Belle in the dungeon after her attempt at breaking his curse, Rumpelstiltskin decides to prove that he is indeed a monster.  Belle disagrees.


He dragged her along the darkened corridor, keeping his eyes averted from her stricken face. How dare she look hurt? How dare her eyes fill with tears? He was the injured party here. _He_ was the one who'd been betrayed. She'd been lying to him for months, using her smiles and caring words to entrap him and make him believe the patently- impossible: that she could love him.

It was almost a relief to know the truth. Her time with him had threatened his most cherished beliefs and for a time made him believe he might be capable of love, even worthy of it. The world made so much more sense now that he knew it had all been an illusion. He was what he had always been: a monster.

Belle allowed herself to be hauled along, still crying desperate apologies, no doubt trying to persuade the beast to spare her wretched life. "It's not what you think! I didn't- I wouldn't! Don't you understand that it's love?"

A burst of power sent the dungeon door flying open, nearly wrenching it off its hinges, and in one movement he hurled her inside, Belle falling to her hands and knees on the stone floor. Some small part of him flinched at her broken posture, and he ruthlessly squelched his sympathy. She was facing away from him, but he could still hear her soft sobs. Shaking his head in disgust, he turned to lock her in, the rage crackling through him. He needed to _destroy_ something.

"I _love_ you!" Belle cried, her voice shaking. Before he even registered moving, he was kneeling next to her, not sure if he'd run or transported.

Rumpelstiltskin grabbed her jaw in a fierce grip, letting her feel the sharpness of his claws against her delicate skin. "_Stop lying_!" he snarled into her face, feeling as though he'd been stabbed. Her game was up; what could she possibly hope to accomplish? Unless she planned to drive him mad with the reminder of what he'd never even been close to having. "No one- _no one_- could ever love a monster!"

"You're _not_ a monster," Belle pleaded, her eyes wide and wet and desperate. Even garbled by his hold on her face, her words dripped with sincerity. She was the queen's creature in all ways; both women could make their pretty lies sound so very much like truth.

"Am I not?" he hissed, insanity bubbling through the blood in his veins. He wanted to _believe_ her, and that made him want to rip out her lying tongue. If only he could see the honest disgust in her eyes, surely he would be able to put this behind him as yet another of the queen's failed plots. If it was just another ploy, there would be no reason for it to _hurt_ so much. "Am I not a monster?"

He glared into her eyes, daring her to protest as he brought his free hand to the laces of her dress, tearing at them. "Did you think I was a _prince_, dearie?" he taunted her, yanking harder in an effort to bare her breasts, "What prince would do this?"

With a toss of her head, Belle pulled her jaw out of his grip, and he braced himself for the sick satisfaction that was to come. Surely now she'd let her revulsion show. How could she not with the monster pawing at her? "I never wanted you to be other than what you are." She glared back at him, "I just wanted you to be _happy_." She knocked his hands away from the front of her dress, and he nodded to himself, waiting for the blow that was sure to follow.

It never came. Belle sat up on her knees, her fingers deftly undoing the knots he'd clumsily made in her laces before going a step farther than he'd managed, revealing the creamy swell of her breasts with a defiant look at his stunned face.

He had- perhaps- underestimated her.

"Your... wiles don't interest me," he tried to sneer, wondering what had happened to his voice. Never had he sounded so breathless and hoarse. Too much of her skin was on display. It was making him dizzy, clouding the real issue. To cover his confusion, he moved behind her, shoving at her shoulders until she was once again on her hands and knees.

"Nor does your permission," he growled, realizing he'd have to go further in order to shock her. With a careless flick of his wrist, he flipped the hem of her dress up to her waist, revealing a rather luscious rump clad in white cotton knickers. "Monsters don't ask, dearie. Monsters _take_."

He traced his hands over her flanks, the softness of her skin almost more than he could bear. Any moment now she'd be on her feet and fighting him, and he'd never touch her again. The revolting contrast of his scaly gray skin against her sweet paleness mocked him, reminding him why this could never _never_ be real.

Belle looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark with what he assumed was rage. "You can't 'take' what is freely given," she countered, arching her hips back like a cat in the most provocative pose he'd ever seen, and what the _hell_ had she been reading that she knew to do that? "I love you, you stupid man. Now _take_ me."

Had she held the dagger that bore his name, he couldn't have been more in her thrall. Fortunately, he had a modicum more luck with the fastenings of his breeches than he'd had with the laces of her dress, and then it was only the thin fabric of her knickers separating them. His body seemed to be both freezing and burning, and the tiny part of him that was maintaining some kind of sanity pointed out that she was taking this awfully far for it to be a trick. If it wasn't a plot, that could only mean- Belle thrust her hips back impatiently, and he forgot to think at all. In one quick move he pulled her knickers down, baring her to his sight completely, and then he was on her.

He was centuries out of practice, not that he'd ever been an expert at this, and he was too clumsy, too rough as he sheathed himself in her in one harsh stroke. Beneath him, Belle threw her head back, her cry echoing in the bare room. Horrified, he tried to withdraw, not wanting to hurt her more, but she reached back, grabbing a fistful of his sleeve. "Don't you dare stop now."

"What _are_ you?" he asked in disbelief, letting her pull him down until he was leaning over her, the fingers of their right hands entwined on the floor, his mouth inches from the back of her neck.

"I'm yours," Belle murmured, and he could hear the smile in her voice, "And you are mine. Now prove it."

"Mine," he repeated, pulling back just enough to thrust sharply back in so he could hear her gasp. "_Mine_." No other word was necessary. Belle was his. She belonged not to Regina nor to her father, not even to herself. She was _his_. He buried his face in the curve of her shoulder, nipping at her throat with sharp teeth he did not allow to draw blood.

He pulled his hand out of hers to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her back into him as he claimed her. "My Belle. You're _mine_." It seemed the deep thrusts should be hurting her as he slammed into her again and again, but the only sounds Belle was making were ones of pleasure, her voice rising on breathless little cries of joy.

She was so incredibly hot around him, her body greedily taking everything he could give her and demanding more. Arching back, she wordlessly demanded harder and faster and _more_, and he was helpless to deny her anything. Pulling her up until she was sitting up on her knees, he filled his hands with her breasts, rolling her nipples in his fingers until they hardened into dainty little nubs he longed to taste. Next time, he promised himself. Next time he would give her everything a princess was entitled to, but for now all he could concentrate on was shoving himself as deeply into her as possible, unwilling to allow any distance between them.

When Belle turned her head to look back at him, he craned his neck to claim her mouth, suddenly desperate for the kiss he'd rejected earlier. This time there was nothing chaste about it. He was demanding entry to her mouth almost from the second their lips touched, and Belle granted it instantly, twining her tongue with his in her mouth as he plundered her.

His skin felt hot and tight, and he wasn't going to keep control for much longer with her making those noises and moving against him the way she was. With a grunt of effort, he managed to move his hand off her breast and sweep it over her body, reaching between her legs in a frenzied effort not to disappoint her. Swallowing her scream, he caressed her with the tip of his finger as she tried to press herself closer to him, her frantic movements almost undoing him.

"I love you," she moaned into his mouth as her body convulsed in his arms, and those words took him over the edge. Pushing himself deep inside of her, he clutched her against him, the pleasure so hot and intense he felt as though he was being incinerated and reborn, a phoenix in her embrace. When he was finally able to breathe again, he had just enough strength left to lie down and pull her down on top of him instead of simply collapsing.

Eyes closed in contentment, Belle snuggled into his chest, placing a kiss over his heart before she asked, "_Now_ do you believe me?" She lifted her head to look down at him, then jerked back with an exclamation of surprise.

"What?" He felt too bonelessly relaxed to panic, but Belle was giving him the oddest look.

Instead of answering him, she started to laugh. "I guess that's one way to break a curse."

He blinked up at her, reached up to brush her hair out of her face, and froze. Gone was the scaly skin and golden nails. In its place was a totally human hand, complete with a scattered dusting of hair. He stared at it in disbelief, the flesh-colored appendage not seeming to be attached to him even when the fingers wiggled at his command.

Despite the alteration in his appearance, he didn't _feel_ any different. He could still sense the magic surrounding them, still felt like he could manipulate it if he tried. When he felt a twinge of pain in his leg from the old injury, he automatically reached for the power to soothe it, and it came readily, the pain fading away into nothing. "Belle, what did you do?"

"I broke your curse," she said smugly, leaning down to plant a kiss on his lips, "You're welcome."

"But-" He snapped his fingers, and the door to the dungeon opened wider.

Belle glared down at him. "If you run now, I swear I will make you regret it."

With another snap, the door closed again, and her ferocious look faded. "Why do I still have magic?"

Shrugging, she rested her head on his chest. "We broke the curse. Maybe the curse and the power are two different things."

He wrapped his arms around her and took stock of himself. Physically, he felt the cool air more intensely now, his human skin not as efficient as his magical one. The magic still waited on the edge of his consciousness, no less ready to do his bidding. Actually, it was _more_ ready, he realized with some surprise. Always before he'd felt like he had to wrestle it into submission to get it to accommodate his wishes without twisting his intentions out of shape. Now it waited obediently for his command.

He'd had nothing to fear after all. He could have Belle and his power, and he'd never have to choose. Although if he did, he decided, he would choose her. Power was available to anyone provided they knew where to look, but true love? That didn't happen every day.

Belle snickered into his chest, distracting him from his thoughts, and he looked down at her tousled head with curiosity. "What?"

"I was just thinking," she started, losing her train of thought again in a fit of giggles before continuing, "All those tales about curses and True Love's Kiss? They're meant for children."

"Yes. And?" he prompted her when she seemed disinclined to continue, and he still hadn't figured out what she was on about.

"Well, it took more than that to break your curse," she pointed out, looking up at him with bright, mischievous eyes, "Perhaps the kiss idea is a euphemism?"

Rumpelstiltskin laughed. He couldn't help it. "Well, I do know a story about a princess asleep in a tower," he allowed, "But that's a story for another day."

"I like our story better anyway," Belle said, snuggling into him, apparently content to spend the rest of the night in the dungeon.

Maybe she was, but he wasn't. With a snap of his fingers they were in his bedroom, comfortably ensconced under a velvet coverlet. Much better. "Belle?" There were things he was supposed to be saying to her- important things- probably starting with an apology for screaming and shaking her.

Before he could get any of them out, she was gazing at him fondly. "You look just right," she said dreamily, "I was afraid I wouldn't recognize you."

From what he remembered of his human appearance, he wasn't sure it was much of an improvement over the gray skin, but he wasn't about to argue with her. At least not about that. "I love you," he said softly, almost diffidently. He would probably never understand how he'd managed to win her, so he decided to just be grateful that he had.

Belle's mouth curved into a teasing smile. "I _knew_ that," she purred, leaning up for another kiss, "But it's still nice to hear."

_Mine_, he thought again, taking as much pleasure from the thought as from the kiss. She had promised him forever, and there would be no breaking that deal. As though reading his mind, Belle placed a last gentle kiss on his lips before pulling away. "Mine," she whispered.

Rumpelstiltskin had spent centuries careful not to fall under anyone's thrall, but this was a collar he would willingly wear. "Yours." She'd saved him from loneliness, from the curse, and from himself, and he would gladly do her bidding. He repeated the word, making it a vow, "_Yours_."


End file.
